


Scars

by Judgement



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judgement/pseuds/Judgement
Summary: Each scar carries its own story, and he wants to learn all of them. Even if you aren’t really around to tell them anymore.[Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot]





	

He counts the scars that mar your flesh. One after the other, each holding a story – some he was familiar with and some he wasn’t. He asked about every single one, but like keeping each part of the story for another time, you wait to tell him the next piece of your puzzle. The moisture from the shower clings to your skin, dampening the sports bra and boy shorts you walked out in. Hair tie against your lips as you wrestle your hair up into a messy and wet bun. Your hair pulled up reveals another set of scars across your neck, and he sits up from the bed, watching your [color] eyes glance to him before looking back to the full sized mirror. He counts the ones he can see from this angle, ranging from large to small dotting across your body.

He sees fourteen.

The sheets are tossed to the side as he stands up, only in his sweatpants as he walks over to you. Standing behind you in the mirror, a full head taller than you are and carefully pulls the damp hair from your hands. Carefully he moves his fingers, straightening out what you had fussed into a knot before gently and carefully pulling it up into the bun you were attempting to get. The hair tie is given to him quietly when he stretches out his metal hand, and within a minute his hands have pulled your hair into the tight bun to keep it from your face. His chin coming to rest on the top of your head as he simply stares at you within the reflection, watching the twitch of your lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t respond to your clipped question, instead, he closes his eyes and shifts to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Breath against your skin that makes you shiver and goosebumps dance along your skin. Instead, he responds by his metal hand which glides up your lower back, a feather light touch that presses against the marks along your back and stops there.

He wants to know the story, and your bottom lip dips between your teeth, gnawing on it as you glance down at your feet in the reflection. Black painted toes wiggle when you move the appendages and you can’t help but debate whether to tell an intricate and exaggerated but obvious lie about it or to simply spill the truth.

You open your mouth, ready to weave a false story in hopes of avoiding the subject but when you glance back up in the reflection you meet his stormy blue eyes. A pleading look in them as his fingers begin to ghost along your back, gently rubbing at the scars that mar it while his lips press a soft kiss against your shoulder blade. The lies die on your lips and you glance away, resisting the urge to shift beneath him.

“My family,” You start, voice slightly rough. Some days you were okay talking about it, it didn’t always bother you. But some days when you thought about it, about what happened it still brought forth the tears, maybe even anger. But it was a helplessness that brought you back to that day, and you could never forget. “My father, actually.” You finally correct after a heartbeat.

“You know the story, abusive father. Mother can’t take it anymore so she leaves the husband and child behind. Daddy didn’t want the child to begin with so now that the wife isn’t around to beat, he only has the child.” Your voice cracks as you force a laugh, feeling his hands move to your waist and squeeze gently but you don’t look at him.

“He was creative some days, but most of the time a belt work just fine.” There’s a shuddering breath and it’s not your own, but you don’t dare look at him. You know you won’t contain the tears if you do, and you hate yourself for it, withdrawing into yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself.

“They never fully healed before he did it again. So they just ended up reopening, and getting bigger and bigger.” You can feel his metal hand leave your waist to trace against one of the scars that ran from your right shoulder blade down your back, a long jagged scar of flesh once torn and healed crudely.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you are in this moment.”

His words murmur against your shoulder and it makes your heart drop into your stomach and your eyes glance to see him staring at you intently in the reflection. Your throat feels tight, and you wonder if he’ll still think that when he sees the scars of puncture wounds on the crook of your neck, the disgusting things you’d done to survive. Probably not.

You allowed yourself to believe the lie anyway.

He moves when the anguish crosses your face when your heart beats like a wound ripped open. Aching with each drumming thump, and he’s turned you around to gently place his lips against yours. Soft and careful like he’s afraid to break you and it only makes the guilt that much worse and you can’t help the tears that drip down your face. He tasted like guilt and remorse, like anguish and promises neither of you could keep and you sob against his lips. His hands brushing against your cheeks to cup them and gently wipe away the tears.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him, you doubted he would believe you anyway. After all, the reality of it was that you were the reason he was here. The reason the room was padded white and people were watching him caress thin air.

Your death destroyed him, and so will your ghost.


End file.
